Stubborn Love
by xxmadworldredemptionxx
Summary: AU/AH: "Self-love is the most important kind—you taught me that, whether you meant to or not. Everything else, and especially loving someone else, is variable. People and feelings can change. They are never constant, and I hate myself for all the times I let myself slip into naivety; for letting myself think that we were an exception. We weren't—we aren't." CLACE TWO-SHOT [T]
1. CHAPTER 1: CLARY

_**Author's Note:**_

 _Hello, well, here you have it! Another repost of an old story I've written!_

 _This was by far one of my favorites I've ever written because of how cathartic the entire writing process was._

 _I would recommend listening to the song **You Ruin Me** by **The Veronicas** when you read this chapter. I was partially inspired by that song too._

 _Anyways, there's a part 2 to this one so look out for that! That will be in Jace's POV._

 _ **Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare owns the original TMI series and characters. Any familiar quotes that you recognise from the TMI books should, of course, be attributed to the ingenuity of Cassie. However, the plot lines and other character developments etc. in this story belongs to me,**_ _ **xxmadworldredemptionxx**_ _ **. Please do not copy, reproduce, translate, or repost these stories elsewhere without my permission.**_

* * *

 **STUBBORN LOVE**

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Clary**

 _I don't quite remember about how things ended between us._

 _One minute we were so happy and in love, we seemed so inseparable, and then the next, there was shouting and a whole onslaught of words—words that can never be taken back; words that till this day, gnaw away at me and leave my chest panging with hurt every time I think about them._

 _I had you one moment, and then lost you the next._

 _I'd thought that we were meant to be, that the second chance we gave to each other, to revive a relationship we once had but wasn't strong enough to survive the first time, would last this time._

 _But it didn't._

 _All the promises and declarations of love that we made, vows that at the time I'd believed were unbreakable, are broken now. You used to say that I wasn't just somebody to you, but "It"—the "It"._

 _But your words were just as empty as your eyes had been when you promised me that I would mean nothing to you anymore. I will never forget that. I don't think I'll ever even forgive you for saying that. You might as well have been shoving a dagger into my chest and twisting it from how much I was hurting._

 _Self-love is the most important kind—you taught me that, whether you meant to or not. Everything else, and especially loving someone else, is variable. People and feelings can change. They are never constant, and I hate myself for all the times I let myself slip into naivety; for letting myself think that we were an exception._

We weren't—we aren't.

But still, I continue to love you anyway.

* * *

"Clary, please. You have to show up. You know how much Max loves you. It would break his heart if his favorite aunt wasn't there for his birthday—his _first_ birthday," Isabelle was saying, her tone clearly indicating how exasperated but desperate she was for me to give in.

I sighed but didn't look at her. I hated how she was using Max—my sweet, innocent, little nephew as ammunition against me. I wanted to go—hell, I would have stayed up all night and help plan his entire birthday party in a heartbeat! But there was just one huge problem: _the guest list_. As if it weren't bad enough that Jace Herondale had RSVP'd to say that he was coming, he was bringing a plus-one with him—Aline Penhallow, otherwise known as his current girlfriend.

"Look, you don't even have to stay in the same room as _him_. You can hang out in Simon's man-cave and play video games all night long, and I won't even throw a bitch-fit! I just want you there— _please_ …"

"What's the _point_?" I cursed myself when my voice cracked. Damn him. Damn me and my stupid, fragile little heart for still pining after him despite everything that had happened. He'd already hurt me beyond everything I failed to expect, so why couldn't I just hate him? Why couldn't I be indifferent to the subject of him, to pretend that he didn't exist? He surely had no problem to pretend that I didn't—as if I had never existed to him.

I cleared my throat. "If I'm there just for the sake of being there, but in reality I'll be hiding out in Simon's room, then what's the point of me even being there?" I asked, trying but failing to control my lips from wobbling.

"The party will go on just fine without me, Isabelle. Just like how everyone's lives will go on just fine without me," I said, softer this time. "Besides, Max shouldn't get too attached to me. He's so young and…I don't want to hurt him when it happens. I'm a ticking bomb, Iz, you _know_ that. I don't want to have to put you through the trouble of having to explain everything to Max if I… _leave_."

"And I told you—We're not leaving you alone," A new voice spoke up from the doorway of the kitchen.

I turned my head, swallowing deeply when my gaze connected with Alec's. He was looking at me the way he always did—with the same amount of brotherly love and affection and loyalty. But he was _also_ giving me the look my father used on me every time I was in for a scolding.

"How long have you been standing there?" I asked him sheepishly. Alec rolled his eyes and I quickly averted my gaze from his in favor of the birthday cake catalogue laid across from me on the island. _Red velvet cake. Rainbow cake. Chocolate cake. Vanilla cake. Strawberry cake. Yup, I'm definitely helping Isabelle to narrow down her options for cake._

"Obviously," Alec began, his voice sounding much, much closer to me than it had only moments ago, "longer than the time you've taken to browse through this cake catalogue. And in case you haven't noticed, you're looking at it upside down."

I finally looked up at him with a resigned sigh. "He's coming to Max's party, did you know?" It took so much willpower to not burst into tears right then and there, but I managed it. Oh God. If I could barely stand the mention of him, much less talk about anything related to him, how was I even supposed to _see_ him?

"I heard," Alec said, his tone giving nothing away.

"He's bringing her too," I said, not meaning to but accidentally blurting it out anyway. _Great._ Now, not only would the Lightwoods know that the root cause of my reluctance to show up was because of _him_ , but his female counterpart as well. They must think I'm so petty.

"I know," Alec said. "He told me."

I gave him a hard look.

"You know I still talk to him, Clary. I can't stop just because the two of you ended things. You're like a sister to me, but Jace is my best friend."

"The only reason you two became friends was because of that stupid movie we were all cast in. But you've known me for longer than that—"

"You're being childish," Alec interrupted. "I can't end my friendship with him just because you hold a grudge against him. It's been eight months. Get over it, Clary."

I gaped at him in disbelief. "Me? Hold a grudge against _him_? You're kidding right?" Alec did nothing but folded his arms across his chest and stared at me as if I were an actual _child_. I shook my head and scoffed. How dare he take _his_ side? "I tried to end things nicely but _he_ ruined it."

"Because you refused to tell him the truth," Isabelle cut in this time. I'd almost forgotten she was still there. "If you had told him, Clary, he wouldn't have reacted the way he did. He would have _stayed_."

"Out of pity!" I screamed.

"No, because loves you!" Alec yelled back.

The harsh volume and tone of his voice shocked me, but the moment his words sunk in, I couldn't help but laugh—a cold, mirthless laugh. _Love?_ "Love?" I leveled him with a cold, condescending look. "Oh Alec. Is that what he told you?"

"He didn't have to, Clary. We know he does. He just has an odd way of showing it," Isabelle said in a gentle voice.

 _Screw that._

"He deleted every single photo we ever took from his social media and wrote a song about how _I_ broke his heart. And for an entire month, he kept tweeting messages about cheating and infidelity and dishonesty, each time making indirect references about me. That's love?"

"You should have told him," Alec repeated.

"So, in other words, you're putting the blame on me? Is that it?" I raised my voice as I backed away from them, feeling unbelievably cornered and suffocated. I could feel my heart rate increasing—abnormally fast, _dangerously_ fast. Logically, I knew that I needed to calm down. Giving in to anger and aggression was detrimental. The doctor explicitly advised against it—or anything for that matter that could potentially cause my blood pressure to spike. But I couldn't stop.

" _Look._ It's not my fault that he's impulsive and jumps to conclusions. It's not my fault that he decided to disregard everything we've ever had because he felt hurt and rejected when we broke up. And it's definitely not my fault that he felt the need to retaliate and hurt me for leaving him—I never went out with anybody else after him…but he went back to her not even one month after we ended things!

"So yes, amen to your statement. How could I ever think otherwise? He still _loves_ me. _He's a damned hypocrite_." I hastily wiped away the tears that had stupidly fell sometime in between my spiteful outburst. I still loved him, but God, did I _hate_ him too. "I hate him. I hate her. I hate… _you_."

Alec's eyes widened with hurt. "You don't mean that, Clary. You're just saying that out of anger—You don't mean that."

"Maybe," I said, sounding falsely nonchalant. "But I do mean this… I wish that I would just die." Alec and Isabelle gasped, but I held my hand up to hold off their protests. I didn't want to hear any of it. I've held it in for so long—too long, in fact. As harsh as my confession was, this was the most honest I've been in months. "I'm so tired of aching all the time. I wish that I would die—so I don't have to hurt anymore."

Pain flared in my chest, not because of my disease, but because I realized how much I had actually meant those words. I had been _dying_ to say them, which was an irony in itself. I wanted to die.

I walked out before any of them could stop me.

* * *

 _We met during a cast reading in the summer of 2013._

 _I had only recently rose to fame, while you had been in the industry a little longer than me. The casting director had called me up a few months before you showed to award me the part of female lead—so back then, we were holding auditions to look for the male lead. You._

 _I remembered the day you strolled into that room, with a confidence and swagger none of the other men before you carried. You dressed like it were any other day; in a white T-shirt, dark-washed jeans and your signature leather jacket—the one you wore almost all the time._

 _My first impression of you was this: rugged and beautiful._

 _"Jace Herondale," You introduced yourself in a silken voice (a sexy British accent) as you approached our table, taking your time to shake everyone's hands. You took my hand the last, eyeing me with that charming smoulder in your eyes. If I were made of ice, I would have melted into a puddle when I realized how impossibly beautiful your eyes were. Gold. I think that was the first time I felt my heart skip a beat._

Because of you.

 _I didn't even know you then, but I knew that you were the male lead that we had been looking for. Something about you just clicked—_

 _Fortunately, you managed to convince them just as well on your own. Because the moment you slipped into character, you were him…no questions asked._

 _The deliberation had been quick and easy; within two weeks of your audition, the casting crew announced that you had been cast the male lead, and though I didn't show it, I was over the moon happy. Giddy, really. I knew that my gut feel couldn't have been wrong._

 _And really, I wasn't wrong about you._

 _You were witty and sarcastic, but in a good way that made me laugh. And underneath your cool exterior, you were actually kind and gentle. You cared for me, and you made it your mission to show it, too. We hung out a lot—on set, in each other's trailer (mine, most of the time); we even went out for coffee and meals and accompanied each other when either of us needed to go shopping. Sometimes I would take forever in a shoe store or clothing store but you never complained. It was always full of smiles and laughter and teasing…_

 _And I fell for you, rather quickly._

But you didn't believe in love at first.

 _"I think love is just an idealistic concept. You can't love others more than you love yourself because people are unpredictable—They can change," You told me. "Take my mother, for example. She once told me that she loved me and my dad, that she would never leave us…and then, one day she did. I was home early one day because my soccer practice was cancelled last minute, and walked in on her having sex with another man—in our kitchen. I was 14 at the time, but I knew that she was cheating on my father. So I told him._

 _"My mother didn't even look guilty. She filed for a divorce, packed her bags, and left our home. I never saw her again after that."_

 _"Is that why you sleep around with other women?"_

 _"Mmm," You didn't even look offended by my question, and remained painfully oblivious to how uncomfortable I was even asking you that. I would never understand how some people could give themselves away to another like that—but then again, my morals have always been grounded in tradition and propriety. "It's better that way. You get the physical gratification without having to worry about anything else. I don't need anything more than that."_

 _I nodded, not knowing what to say, but knew I had to prove you wrong._

* * *

 _"I think I'm in love with you," You blurted out several weeks later over dinner. I distinctly remembered choking when you said that, and then coughing and hacking to get rid of said choking. You had looked so concerned for me, and kept asking me if I was alright. I wasn't, of course, but at the same time, I was more than alright. You basically just told me that you loved me…_

 _So after the coughing had died down, I took your hand in mine and said to you, "Me too," because saying "I love you too" seemed so cliché and overused. You asked me if I wanted to be your girlfriend, and foolishly, I agreed._

 _I could—I can never say 'No' to you._

* * *

 _When we made our relationship public, the media and fans went crazy. We even had a ship name—'Clace'. At first, I thought it was stupid and cheesy but it slowly grew on me. Alec and Isabelle (who were also cast in the movie with us) found it amusing, and called us that every chance they got._

 _"It's easier to say, 'Oi, Clace!' than 'Oi, Clary and Jace!'" Isabelle had argued once._

 _But when filming ended and after the movie was released, we faced a challenge we should have seen coming: the distance. I lived in New York, and your home was in London. The possibility of us being cast in another movie together, much less one that soon, was a 0.01 percent chance to none._

 _We could have stayed together and made a long-distance relationship work, but I thought it'd be better if we didn't. It wouldn't be fair for either of us. You deserved to have a girlfriend who could be there for you all the time, not one that existed over phone calls and text messages and occasional visits—and I didn't want to spend the rest of our relationship missing you and pining for you._

 _So we broke up, amicably, and stayed friends._

 _I remembered feeling hurt when I found out that you were dating another girl, an up-and-coming Indie-film actress at that, a year later. I knew it was unfair of me for reacting that way—you were moving on, and so was I (I was dating someone else too at the time)—but still, my heart longed for you. I wanted no one else but you._

 _I stayed clear of your social media after one too many instances of you tweeting about your 'significant other'. Declarations of love that you used to reserve for me but now used for her, hurt me. It didn't help that our catch-ups over text messages became less and less frequent until they ceased altogether. Your girlfriend didn't like it when we talked, and eventually, you became too busy for me. But I didn't blame you—_

 _You had her._

 _"We broke things off," You called me one night—after almost 11 months of silence. I didn't know how to decipher the tone in your voice, if you were hurting or even feeling anything. You just sounded…lost. "I'm confused. I thought I loved her, but I'm not as torn up about it as I should be. Is there something wrong with me?" Maybe you were in shock, I didn't know. I let you ramble to me all night long, deep down, relieved that I was finally able to hear your voice again. I'd really missed you._

 _"So I have a couple gigs lined up with my band. Will you come down to support me? You know, for old times' sake?"_

 _"Of course I will, Jace. You know how much I love watching you play. I'm so proud of you," I'd said to you. We talked a little bit more, and after that night, you made sure to always call. I figured after a while that it was because you were lonely, and though it was slightly hurtful that the only reason you were doing it was because you no longer had a girlfriend to occupy your time, I did it. I didn't turn you away because you needed me. I would talk to you for as long as you wanted to, but on the inside, I was so afraid. You would leave me alone after you found another girl to fill the hole in your heart—I wouldn't matter to you again._

 _I went down to London a couple more times to visit you. Your band was doing really well, and I could tell that they would make it big one day. I told you so._

 _"You know, I've a feeling you're going to make it into the big leagues one day—Madison Square Garden, The Royal Albert Hall…so you better not forget me." You chuckled loudly at that and before I even knew what was happening, your lips were on mine and we were…kissing._

 _I was the first one to pull away. "We_ shouldn't _—"_

 _"I still love you, Clary," You said as you held onto my hands, refusing to let me go. "I don't think I can ever stop loving you. Even when I was with Aline…you were always there. On my mind. In my heart. I was a selfish jerk and I'm sorry I stayed away from you for so long…but I was trying._

 _"I didn't think that I was being fair to Aline—that's why I stopped talking to you. I was trying to forget you so I could be a better boyfriend for her. But God, it only made me miss you even more. That's why we broke up. Because she knew I still loved you. And it hurt her."_

 _"What are you saying, Jace?" I was so confused._

 _"Exactly what I've been saying. I love you." I looked up at you then, and knew that you were telling the truth. You didn't lie—and you hadn't been lying then._

 _"I'm asking for another chance. I know it won't be easy. We live in two different continents…but we can make it work. All I'm asking is for a second chance. Please, Clary…please."_

 _I knew I should have thought it over at least once, twice—at least a hundred times—but I was…naïve and too blinded by my own love for you._

 _I will only ever love you._

* * *

A week later, I was sitting on a stool at Max's birthday party. The boy in question was currently dancing about in front of me, occasionally exclaiming, "Auntie! Auntie!" whilst gesturing to himself. He loved it when I spared him even the littlest of attention, that I couldn't bring myself to break his heart, no matter how much my own heart was breaking (it was probably already broken).

After the incident at Isabelle's apartment last week, I'd basically burrowed myself away, dead for the world, for all I cared. Well see, the thing is, I _didn't_ care. If God granted my heart's desire and took me away that night, I would have been the happiest person alive (or the happiest person _dead_ , but you get the picture).

I had stumbled into a hotel, knowing that the first place the Lightwoods and Simon would have looked for me would be my apartment, and I didn't want to be found. I then switched off my cellphone and slept—I was too tired to do anything else.

It was only on the morning of the fourth day that I finally deigned to switch on my phone. I had over a hundred missed calls and several dozens of text messages and voicemails—from Alec, Isabelle and Simon, of course, and some from Magnus, my brother Jonathan and lastly, my parents. _Not_ that hearing my family and friends express how much I've driven them insane with worry for me did anything to persuade me or make me feel guilty. At the time, I'd felt nothing but numbness.

It was only after I listened to the voicemail little Max had left me, telling me in his baby voice (and with Isabelle's muffled aid in the background) how much he missed me, and to "pwease come home", did I finally cave. I showed up at the Lewis's apartment an hour later, dressed in the same clothes as before.

Max hadn't allowed me to leave his sight since, so I've taken to moving into the spare bed in his bedroom, much to his delight.

I was starting to regret my actions though—not only for allowing Max to convince me into coming out of hiding, but also to for allowing myself to be persuaded by his mother Isabelle to show up at his birthday party. I started to regret it even more when my worst nightmare showed up, his ex-girlfriend-now-turned-current-girlfriend hanging off his arm like a leech. My stomach roiled with nausea and I could feel myself getting sick really fast.

"Hey, Max!" Jace chirped as he bounded towards the boy. Max's eyes widened with wary and suspicion as they always did around strangers (which Jace, admittedly, was since they had never even met before today), and he, unfortunately dived straight for me, wrapping his chubby arms around my thighs.

"No! No! No want! Auntie!"

My heart pounded, so hard I could feel it pulsing through my sternum. _God save me._ I felt his eyes on me before I even looked up, and felt the familiar twist and burn in my gut. _My heart. It hurts._

"Hello, Clarissa," Aline was saying, her voice sounding so prickly sweet I wanted to throw up. "I didn't expect to see you here, but it's nice to finally meet you anyway. I'm Aline." She offered me her hand for a handshake, and although I was extremely reluctant to, I looked up, managing a stiff smile and an even stiffer handshake.

"Nice to meet you too," I said in a shaky voice.

Unable to help myself, my curious green eyes darted over to him. He was glaring at me unashamedly, hurt, hatred and grudge burning in his golden eyes. He looked good, with his new haircut and a bit of scruff on his usually clean-shaven face. His muscles had even filled out quite a bit, and all in all, finally seeing him in the flesh after eight months of bitter separation made me realize one thing: I had missed him—a lot. And even worse, I still loved him— _so much,_ I wanted to cry my eyes out just from seeing him show up with another girl.

Oh, the _girl_. I wanted nothing more than to rip her arms off for holding him the way I should be holding him. It didn't escape my attention either how she held onto him tighter, as if she was saying through her body language: _Back off, bitch. He's mine!_

"I would say that this is a pleasant reunion but it's not," Jace said, his voice practically dripping with sarcasm—and not the witty kind, too. "I see you've lost weight. What, your _boyfriend_ hasn't been feeding you anything?"

I felt myself internally recoil with hurt, but I refused to let it show. I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing me hurt. He didn't deserve it.

The truth was, other than plain ol' chicken soup, I could barely keep anything down. One, because I was sick and dying. And two, because I was sick and dying _and_ clinically depressed. Need I say more?

Oh, where were the Lightwoods or Simon or Magnus when you needed them? Why did Isabelle even invite this many people to her son's birthday party? WHY?

"And you look better than when I saw you last. Aline must be treating you well," I said, giving him a civil smile.

"Oh, definitely. Better than _you_ ever did," he said without missing a beat. He narrowed his eyes at me, challengingly. "She even takes care of my _needs_ —unlike some women who claim that they're saving themselves for marriage but turn out to be a two-faced, backstabbing _whore_ —"

"In case you've forgotten, Max is still here. And I don't appreciate your language, Jonathan," I snapped, hurt and anger quickly scorching my blood.

I looked away from him and down at Max, who was still clinging onto me for dear life. _My poor boy._ "Max, honey, why don't you go find your Mommy and Daddy?"

"No! Auntie no go!" He shook his head, adamantly and furiously. I bent down and kissed his forehead.

"I'm not going anywhere," I told him in a gentle voice. "I'll come find you straight after—I promise."

Max gave me a look as if to say, "You better mean it", before turning on his tail and setting off to look for his parents. Speaking of which, _where were they?_

"Jace, I'm going to go look for a drink. Do you want some?" Aline asked in a manner which could only be described as coquettish. I stood corrected—Where was the bloody _toilet_ when I needed it?

"Sure. I'll have whatever you're having," Jace swiftly replied, making a big show of planting a kiss on Aline's lips.

I found myself looking away again, especially when Aline deliberately deepened the kiss, gripping his hair the way I used to, and shoving her tongue down his throat with an inappropriate-sounding moan. I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath, feeling the pain return to my chest, only this time, it felt a thousand times worse. My chest felt unbelievably tight, as if someone (Jace or Aline) had dumped a whole truckload of bricks on top of me.

Jace's throat-clearing brought me back to reality and I released a choked gasp, subtly raising a hand and smoothing the fabric down over my chest. Aline was nowhere to be seen, but Jace was still there, smirking coldly at me, in fact.

"Do displays of love sicken you?" he sneered.

"No, but you do," I mustered in an equally cold voice. "This is Max's birthday party, Jace. Did you come here just to mock me, knowing that I'd be here? If you are, you should be ashamed of yourself."

"You're one to talk."

"Do you see me smooching off another man?"

"No. But then again, you've never been one for open displays," he said in a low, calculated voice. I narrowed my eyes at him, noticing the malicious glint in his eye. I was prepared to hear a nasty remark from him, but even then, I could never stop myself from feeling hurt by his words. Why did I love him again?

"You're more of the do-it-behind-everyone's-back-and-hope-you-never-get-caught type. Sneaky _whore_."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and willed the tears to not fall—not in front of him, at least. "Because you know me so well." My voice shook, and despite how much I tried to hold them in, they fell, coating my cheeks with wetness.

"I'm done, Jace," I said tiredly without looking away from his gaze. His golden eyes had softened, as if he couldn't bear seeing me cry, but there was still lingering confusion and anger and hurt in them.

"You can insult me and hurt me all you want. I'm done fighting a war I never even wanted to be a part of. I just—" My chest heaved and rocked with emotion. "I don't understand you. Did you mean it when you said that you loved me? Because if you really did, you wouldn't be doing this to me."

He reeled back from me as if I had slapped him. "I wasn't the one who started this. _You did_."

"Damn it, Jace—I never cheated on you! Why can't you just believe that?" I clutched at my chest, staring at him through reddened eyes. I was starting to wheeze at this point, and I knew I had to get away quickly. Jace reached a hand out for me when I swayed on my feet, but I swatted him away.

 _"Leave me alone, Jace."_

* * *

Despite the promise I made to Max, I still walked out of that apartment.

I knew that I had done Jace wrong, but what right did he have to hurt me in retaliation? Maybe Isabelle and Alec and everyone else who knew about my health condition were right—I should have been forthcoming and told him the truth, then let him decide for himself what he wanted to do with our relationship.

But I was, and still _am_ , stubborn.

I'd envisioned two different scenarios in my head if I told him. One, he would fight with me, insist that we try everything in our power to find a cure for me so that we could live out our happily-ever-after—only for the latter part of that possibility proving to be _impossible_ and I would end up leaving him with a permanent broken heart.

Two, he would stay with me out of pity, and in turn, never finding complete joy and satisfaction in our relationship. After a while, he would realize what a huge mistake he had made and find other means to satisfy himself whilst staying with me (in other words, he would eventually cheat on me, hurt me, then leave me). I didn't want that. So I took matters into my own hands and decided for us.

 _I_ would be the one to leave _him_ , and he didn't need to know the reason why, just that we were moving too fast and I wasn't ready for the commitment.

Oh God, _if only_ he hadn't been proposing when I broke things off with him.

I could still remember how devastated he had looked when I told him that I just couldn't do it anymore. He'd tried to fight for me, he even begged and cried for me to give him a chance, but I did nothing but walk away, tears of agony and cowardice blurring my vision as I left him. He'd called me, came up to my hotel room and knocked on my door all night, but I had turned him away.

The next day, I had hopped onto a plane back to New York, leaving him in London with a broken heart. Even then, he'd tried to call and text me every chance he got, but I never answered. I didn't want his pleas to sway my decision.

But as it turned out, I didn't need to do anything to convince him to stop trying.

Still reeling from the pain of my break-up with Jace, I had been blind to not notice that the paparazzis had been trailing me every chance they got. In hindsight, I should have anticipated it. I was a well-known actress of two famous actors for parents and a famous rock star for a brother; the signs should have been clear!

It had been through a chance encounter that I met with Sebastian Verlac, a former co-star of mine and an ex-boyfriend whom I had stayed on friendly terms with after our break-up. In the spur of the moment, we'd decided to catch up over lunch and parted ways with a friendly hug and kiss on the cheek.

But the media had spun a completely different story of said encounter. While I was running an errand after an appointment at the hospital, I came across a gossip magazine—several of them, in fact—with me and Sebastian on the front page and the headlines: "CLARISSA MORGENSTERN CHEATING ON JACE HERONDALE WITH FORMER FLAME?"

Wide-eyed, I had snatched up a copy of the magazine and tore through the article, fuming when I read, "An insider source revealed that that the two former lovers reconciled over coffee and were seen making googly eyes at each other throughout the entire two-hour affair. Another speculated that the two had decided to give their relationship a second try, which begs the question…where does Jace Herondale fit in this equation?"

I had contemplated suing the magazine for publishing such a sensationalized, and more importantly than that, _fake_ story, but before I even had the chance to, Jace Herondale had shown up at my doorstep, to end things off with me on a bitter note. I tried not to remember that night so much, but some words still stuck to me, binding themselves to me like a second skin. Words like: "Lying, cheating bitch", "A waste of time", "Worst mistake I ever made", and "I hate you".

I had only made it a few blocks away from Isabelle's apartment when the tightening in my chest suddenly became unbearable. I gasped and stumbled to a stop, barely able to keep my balance as my head grew lighter—so light, I could be floating in the air. My heart raced uncontrollably and my body shook, black spots beginning to cloud my vision. My nose was running, and it occurred to me, belatedly, it was probably bleeding—again.

From a distance, I heard a familiar voice yell out my name. He sounded desperate and worried, it almost made me smile. My knees finally buckled, but before I could collapse head-first into the pavement, strong arms caught me and gently lowered me to the ground, cradling me. His touch was soft and familiar, and his smell comforting—the unique scent of lemon and sunshine.

"Clary, baby, stay with me please," he was saying as his callused thumb gently rubbed away at the blood trickling from my nose. "Clary—I'm so sorry—Please forgive me. I didn't know. I didn't _know_."

I didn't even register the words as I spoke them. "Jace, why are you crying?"

He buried his face into my hair and released a choked sob. It sounded so pained that it brought me back to the night I left him, the first time I ever saw him cry. "Because I'm such an asshole. I hurt you—I did this to you," he said. "Please don't leave me, Clary. I love you so much. I'll only ever love you. Stay with me."

"I love you," I whispered as I unconsciously guided his lips to mine for a soft, close-mouthed kiss. It was brief and chaste, but filled with every emotion I was running out of time to express: love, regret, forgiveness. My eyes were closed but I saw him clearly behind my eyelids. My handsome Jace with his golden hair and golden eyes.

 _I'll never regret loving you. My heart has and will always be yours_ , were the final thoughts I had as I drifted off into complete darkness.


	2. CHAPTER 2: JACE

**_A/N: And here's part 2! In Jace's POV._**

 _ **Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare owns the original TMI series and characters. Any familiar quotes that you recognise from the TMI books should, of course, be attributed to the ingenuity of Cassie. However, the plot lines and other character developments etc. in this story belongs to me,**_ _ **xxmadworldredemptionxx**_ _ **. Please do not copy, reproduce, translate, or repost these stories elsewhere without my permission.**_

* * *

 _I wanted to hate you—but I know it in my heart that I can't._

 _When I saw you back in Isabelle's apartment, with your sallow skin (not the same shade of porcelain white that I remembered), hollowed cheeks and skinny frame, I remembered feeling scared. Terrified, even._

 _You didn't look like the same strong woman I know, and for the briefest moment, I wondered if it was my doing. Had I driven you into becoming this—a girl who was nothing but skin and bones? Had I gone too far, had I hurt you too much, had I…ruined you? But my damned inner demon, selfish, childish and stupid as ever, had to butt in._

 _I can count on one hand the number of times that I can actually rely on myself for being consistent. One, my love for you, despite how hard I tried to extinguish it—that remained consistent. And two, I was—I am a consistent asshole._

 _It shouldn't have taken me finding out the truth from Isabelle and Alec about your condition to stop me from being that asshole. I should have stopped a long time ago and respected your decision to end things instead of feeding my loathsome grudge. I shouldn't have even gotten back with Aline—I didn't love her; I only, regretfully, used her to spite you._

 _And I hate myself for that._

 _I would do anything to turn back time and take back the things that I said to you that night—or every other thing I've said to you (directly or not) those eight months before._

 _Bitch, whore, liar, cheater—You're none of those things. I shouldn't have believed those tabloids, but at the time, they offered a convenient reason; an excuse to get back at you. And like I said, I'm stupid—I would have believed anything as long as it justified my pain._

 _Selfish boy. Stupid boy._

 _I suppose this means that your fans were right about me all along—I was a self-centered prick who took without giving, only expecting more from you when you expected none from me. I never appreciated the sacrifices you made for me (so many times you flew in from New York to visit me, but I never once flew back for you—the only time I did that was to break up with you in person. What kind of a man am I?) But most of all, they were especially right about this one thing: that you deserved much better than me._

 _I am ashamed of myself, not just for hurting you, but for never giving you the chance to explain. I only thought of my own pain—but I never stopped to ask you about yours._

 _You were the first person that made me believe in love; who showed me that it isn't some sort of an idealistic concept, but something that is felt and nurtured. But I was an idiot—I threw away our love._

 _The entire time that we spent apart…those painful eight months…tore me apart. When you told me that you didn't want to marry me, a piece of my heart shattered. I'd known before that that I shouldn't have—you were right; we were moving too fast._

 _If only I'd known the things that I knew now. That the pain I felt before, of your rejection, wouldn't even come close—that it would pale in comparison to the pain that I feel now. The same pain I've been feeling these past three months._

Oh, Clary…

I wish you would wake up already.

* * *

These days I did nothing but stare at her as she... _slept_. She had always been a small little thing, a pixie compared to my giant, but she was never quite as tiny as she looked lying in that hospital bed, surrounded by pristine white sheets, beeping machines, and tubes. Her chest barely moved as she breathed, so the only visible indication that she was still alive showed on her heart monitor.

And I'm so grateful for that heart monitor. Grateful for every steady, consistent beep it made to show that her heart was still working. But even then, it hurt so much seeing her this way.

Not long after Clary had pushed past me that night and left the apartment, little Max came barreling through the crowd with his mother Isabelle and uncle Alec in tow. They both did a double-take when they saw me (even though they'd known that I would be there), and then they started looking around, frantic and panicked in a way I had never seen them react before.

"Where's Clary?" Alec finally asked in a dreadful tone. He looked at me as if he already knew the answer—that she'd stumbled upon me first and that I'd driven her away. I was confused by the grave looks they gave me, even more so after my encounter with Clary.

She'd seemed as if she was— _had_ given up. That she wasn't just "done" with me, but with everybody and everything else. But how could _she_? The Clary I knew was strong and inspired so many young girls and boys alike to be kind and to stand up for themselves; to never give up in the face of adversity. If she emulated those same values she advocated as a role model, why should there be any concern that she would do something of the complete opposite? She couldn't be that _stupid_ …could she?

Oh God—Why did I even _care_?

I cleared my throat before answering. "She left not five minutes ago…" More frantic looks were exchanged between the two siblings, and I couldn't help but feel like I was missing something extremely important there.

"Call Jonathan _now_. Tell him Clary's gone missing—again," Alec told Isabelle while rubbing his temples worriedly. " _Fuck._ " My eyes widened when Alec cursed. I knew the man well enough to know that he _never_ cursed unless it was a situation that warranted a cursing. What the hell was going on here?

"Her parents are going to kill us. This is the second time we failed to look after her in a week!" Isabelle was saying as she furiously tapped away on her phone, probably dialing Jonathan's number. I was growing more and more confused by the minute so I finally spoke up.

"What's going on?" I asked, my tone wary. Isabelle and Alec looked up at the same time, their expressions mirroring shock, as if they were two deers caught in the headlights—or perhaps "two children who just got caught with their hands in the cookie jar" was a better simile to describe the two. "Why are you freaking out like this? Clary leaves every other time—Why are you acting as if you're two hens that just lost their baby chick?" _Another animal-related simile—Bravo, Jace. You've never shown much promise for the English language until now._

Isabelle's face suddenly turned murderous and I found myself backing away from her when she stepped closer to me. "Because said 'baby chick' is a sick, _dying_ chick!" She hissed. "Do you have any idea what you've done?" She took another step closer to me and jabbed me in the chest— _hard_. "She ran out of here just last week telling us how much she _wished_ that she would die already because _you_ have done nothing but hurt her! She isn't just depressed, Jace—She's dying!"

I didn't know long I spent standing there and just staring, Isabelle's words playing on repeat in my head: _She's dying. She's dying. She's dying._ And before I even knew what I was doing, I was flying out of the apartment door, my heart racing wildly and my palms sweatier than they'd ever been.

I ran as if hell was on my tail and I had to get away—only it wasn't to save myself; it was to save _her_. The one girl I'd ever truly loved but had driven away by my own destructive nature. I would never forgive myself if I didn't make it to her in time. I would never forgive myself, _period_. I had been so caught up in my own pain that instead of caring for her like I should have, I hurt her beyond repair. _She was dying!_

"Clary!" I yelled, a desperate, terrified yell when I saw her red hair flying against the wind. I would have been so relieved to find her this quickly if she hadn't been standing there, trembling like a leaf. I quickened my steps, desperate to reach her. She swayed violently and pitched forward—I leaped just in time to catch her and slowly lowered her to the ground, cradling her as if she were made of brittle glass.

And then I was crying. Pained, choked sobs, barely coherent apologies and shameless pleas for forgiveness. I felt as if I was being stabbed—over and over again when she asked me why I was crying. The sight of blood trickling from her nose, the sickly pallor of her skin and her eyes—as if she were in her own distant, faraway world—tormented me. And God, she was so cold— _deathly cold_ that it scared me. She couldn't die. I wouldn't allow her to die.

When she guided me down to kiss her, my heart stopped. How I'd been so blind to not realize this sooner—to ever doubt her love and fidelity, was probably the stupidest thing I'd ever done. Even then, when she was within arms' reach of Death, she still thought of me. She thought it was more important to comfort me than to try to keep breathing. _I don't deserve her. I never deserved her._

I doubted that I would ever be able to erase that night from my memory. The tears I cried when I caught up with her on the street, when she struggled to breathe and her nose bled…right before she collapsed…those tears continued to fall now, three months after that very night. I had never been one for showing emotion, but I did it for her. Because I couldn't help it. She always brought out the best and worst parts of me.

I knew that I was the last human being on earth that deserved her forgiveness, much less a second _second_ chance, but still, I prayed for it. I prayed for her to wake up so that I could see her emerald green eyes one more time—to see her take me in one more time, whether with hatred or…a smile.

"Please wake up, love. You've been sleeping long enough. I miss you so much..." I'd taken to talking to her as part of a daily routine; the doctor and nurses told me that even though she was in a coma, there was a high chance that she could still hear the things that were happening around her.

At first I was skeptical, but after I started talking to her about how sorry I was for all the pain I'd caused her before, when I _asked_ her why—why didn't she tell me that she was sick—tears started to leak from her eyes. She was unconscious, but aware enough to cry. But I didn't like seeing her tears—I reckoned that she'd cried enough in all that time before I reappeared in her life—so I would tell her happier things instead, stories of what and how I envisioned our lives to turn out.

Her doctor encouraged it. They had done everything in their power to try to save her when we came into the emergency room that night. I didn't know if it was coincidence, fate or a miracle, but their months of hard search finally bore success that same night; they managed to locate a compatible heart donor for Clary. And despite the high risk of her dying on that operating table, they performed the transplant. They replaced her old, weak heart with a new one. Thankfully, her body didn't reject it. She responded well to the treatment; her chances of living longer, at least an additional ten years, were higher.

And really, it was a blessing every single one of us could have hoped for. More time with this wonderful human being and her amazing, beautiful heart. If she allowed me to, I would treasure her for the rest of her— _our_ lives. I told her so, every single hour without fail. I imagined that if she were awake, she would have probably slapped me silly from how often I said that.

Her doctor approved of it though. He said that I was doing a good thing, that I was slowly rebuilding her hope so that she had something good to look forward to when she woke up. Her will to live had been weak before, but it grew stronger every day—her vitals grew stronger every day. The only thing she refused to do was to actually wake up.

It baffled everyone, including the doctors. There was no plausible explanation for her coma. The numerous tests they ran on her showed that she was the healthiest she had ever been since she was diagnosed with severe heart disease. There was no trauma, infection or injury to her brain; she just hadn't woken up. In a way, it was almost as if she were biding her time, telling everyone who was waiting for her that she wasn't quite ready to face reality yet…

My sweet, beautiful Clary was stubborn as always. But I would patiently wait for her until she woke up. I knew that she would.

"I know you're probably sick and tired of hearing me say this…but the more you refuse to wake up, the more you'll hear me say it," I joked as I gently caressed her cheek. "I love you. I want you to know that I'm in it for the long run this time—I'll never abandon you again. And if you'll have me, I want to make you my wife. I'll never hurt you again…but if I do, you're entitled to slap me all you want. I promise I won't complain about it. Just wake up already."

"Proposing to my sister in her sleep?" I looked up to find the identical emerald green eyes of Clary's brother staring back at me. He had an eyebrow arched and his arms folded across his chest.

Jonathan and I had never quite been friends; after Clary and I were on bad terms, he, obviously, took his sister's side. I knew a part of him blamed me for what happened to Clary, but other than that one punch to my face the night his sister was rushed into the emergency room, we simply… _coexisted_. He never asked me to leave, and strangely, neither did their parents.

Don't get me wrong—Valentine Morgenstern wasn't my biggest fan. He'd made it clear to me every time the both of us were in the same room. His baby shouldn't have to settle for a douchebag like me, but it wasn't his decision to make, so he let me be.

And Jocelyn…well, she didn't like me either (not as much as she used to anyway) but she was, for the most part, accepting. To her, the fact that I'd stayed this long in New York, barely leaving her daughter's bed side, much less the hospital, meant that I was sincere about wanting to make it up to Clary. My self-deprecating guilt and remorse was enough of a punishment; I'd earned my right to stay.

I stumbled out of my musings when Jonathan snorted. For some reason that was unclear to me, he looked amused. "Where's the ring? Did you put it on her finger already?" he asked with a smirk.

"Ha-ha, very funny, Jonathan," I rolled my eyes and returned my attention to the sleeping beauty. I didn't know what I'd expected to see. Other than the occasional twitching of her hand, she still hadn't moved. I sighed.

"I have the ring. I've had it with me for over a year already." I took her hand in mine and kissed the back of it. "Even while we were broken up, I could never get rid of it. My heart continued to stubbornly love her. I didn't know it then, but I think…a part of me still hoped that she would want me. That she would come back to me. So I kept the ring for that very reason."

"I would say that it's a very… _creepy_ thing to do, especially since you had a girlfriend the entire time," Jonathan said. "Speaking of girlfriends, what happened with…you know?" I didn't have to be a smart-aleck to figure out who Jonathan was referring to.

"Aline and I broke up—well, _I_ broke up with her when she came to the hospital begging for me to 'come home' with her."

Jonathan let out a low whistle. "A public breakup… I'm surprised it didn't show up in the tabloids. How'd she take it?"

I shrugged as I ran circles over Clary's hand with my thumb. "Like how you would expect a banshee to react. She screamed, cursed and slapped me—told me what a jackass I was and how she'd wasted time thinking that she could make me love her the way I love Clary," I said.

"And where was _I_ during this dramatic soap opera?" Jonathan took a seat by the window of Clary's room.

"Who knows? I think you left to take a huge dump. You were gone for so long," I said sarcastically, smiling when Clary's finger twitched at my response.

"Screw you, Herondale."

We sat in complete silence for a long while; the only sounds in the room that could be heard was the beeping of Clary's heart monitor.

"She's going to say yes," Jonathan finally said. I looked up at him in surprise, eyes begging him for confirmation of what he'd just said. He rolled his eyes, the same way I imagined Clary would.

"She's going to say yes—to your proposal," he clarified. "Hell, if you asked _me_ , I would say yes on her behalf. Only because I know how much she loves your stupid ass and that the only thing that's stopping her from saying 'yes' is because she's stubborn and equally stupid."

"Don't you hate me though?" I asked. "I hurt her— _badly_ …so why are you giving me your approval?"

Jonathan's lips thinned into a straight line. "Oh, I hate you alright," he said, narrowing his eyes at me. "You dumb piece of—" He cut himself off before he could finish the curse. "You knew how to trigger my sister's pain and you did it. I shouldn't even allow you to be here, but I did."

I gulped. I already knew what a sorry excuse of a human being I was, but to hear it from Clary's brother…about how I'd exploited her vulnerabilities, made me sink deeper into that pit of guilt and self-hatred. "So why did you let me in here?" I asked, quietly.

Jonathan looked contemplative as he stared at his sister's face. There was a sadness that wasn't there before, and a spark of unconditional love that was uncommon amongst siblings. "Because Clary deserves her happiness. I would put up with you as long as you make her happy." He turned to me and narrowed his eyes, warningly this time. "But if you ever—and I mean _ever_ hurt her again, I'll kick your ass and make sure you never see her again. Are we clear?"

I nodded, putting my head down on Clary's bed and closing my eyes. I knew that there was a lot that I needed to do before I could regain the Morgensterns' unmitigated trust, and if took me the rest of my life to prove myself, then so be it.

 _Anything for my Clary._

* * *

I didn't know how long I'd been asleep for. One would have thought that having spent the last few months camping out 24/7 in Clary's room—and falling asleep in the most uncomfortable positions possible—I would have grown accustomed to the kinks in my neck and the insufferable backaches…but I wasn't.

Still, I _wasn't_ complaining. Nope, not at all. Especially when there was a soft hand massaging the back of my neck, soothing out those stubborn kinks. So small, soft and gentle… I found myself dozing off again when I realized that I recognized _those hands_ …

I shot straight up in my chair, my neck, regretfully, protesting in pain. My eyes were wide open and I could have sworn that I'd stopped breathing. For so long, I had waited for this moment, and now that it was finally happening, I was in complete utter shock.

The next thing I knew, she was pressing her oxygen mask into my face, and smiling in a way I'd never thought I would see her smile again—much less at _me_.

 _"Clary?"_ My voice came out muffled against the oxygen mask.

"Mmm," she replied, and it was the sweetest sound I'd heard in months.

Finally snapping out of my daze, I gently pushed the oxygen mask away from my face. My eyes were intent on hers—a beautiful emerald green that shone so much brighter than the last time I saw them; I could get lost in her gaze forever. _She was finally awake._

"Oh, Clary," I breathed out as I buried my face into her hair and inhaled her scent. My right hand was cradling her jaw as I began peppering kisses on the crown of her forehead, feeling relieved and so, _so_ happy that I was finally able to do this while she was awake.

Clary let out a breathless laugh, and surprisingly, she pulled me tighter against her, her own hand caressing the back of my neck.

"Clary…"

She cupped my face in her small hands and I shuddered, my eyes falling shut. I felt a tear slip down my cheek as she gently planted a kiss on my chin—the pressure so soft and light, I barely felt it there. "Kiss me already." Her voice was hoarse from disuse, but I didn't mind one bit. It was _Clary_.

So I did as she asked, kissing her with more gentleness than I'd ever kissed a girl before. The temptation to deepen the kiss, after so many months of starved deprivation, was strong, but I held myself back with every ounce of self-control I could muster. I didn't want to take it too far. We still had things to say to each other—things that we needed to work out before we could move on and decide what we were to each other again.

"I've missed you," I said when I broke our kiss—albeit reluctantly.

"I missed you too," she whispered as tears began to fill her eyes. She blinked once and they fell, flowing like rapid streams of waterfall. My heart clenched at the sight, even more so when she started sobbing.

"Hey," I cooed. "Shh, baby. Why are you crying?"

"I missed you," she said in between sobs. "The whole time I was in that coma, I heard you. I could hear every single thing you said to me. But still it wasn't the same as actually being awake and able to hold you and kiss you. I was so afraid you'd give up on me and leave me."

"That's never going to happen," I said as I kissed her cheek, letting my lips to linger there on purpose. "I told you, didn't I? I'm never abandoning you again—not unless you ask me to leave."

"I don't want you to leave," Clary said. Her sobs had calmed down a little but there were still the occasional hiccups accompanied by silent streaks of tears. "I love you."

"I love you too," I said, kissing her cheek again.

* * *

"Daddy, stop smothering me!" Clary whined loudly when Valentine asked her (for the thousandth time) if she was okay. The older man looked offended by his daughter's reprimand but he didn't budge. In fact, he only _pouted_ at her.

"Young lady, that is not the sort of tone you should be using on your father," he said as if he were scolding a three-year-old. "I see no wrong in showing concern for you. You are my youngest and only princess."

"Dad…"

"Oh Valentine, stop embarrassing our little girl," Jocelyn looked at the two of them amused. "Look at her! She's turning into a tomato."

"Yes, dad. Stop embarrassing our little Clare-Bear," Jonathan joined in, teasing his sister.

"You all suck," Clary folded her arms across her chest and pouted like her father did only moments ago.

I shook my head and smiled. I had never been in the same room as the Morgensterns before—except for the past few months while Clary was unconscious—so this was a first. Seeing the four of them interact with one another, I couldn't help but feel a little envious, but at the same time, amused. I had never had a big family—it was always just me and my dad, and he wasn't the most attentive or affectionate person around, even more so after my mom left us.

"Jace," Valentine intoned in a stern voice. I looked up at him, from where I was still glued to my seat next to Clary and holding her hand. Not to my surprise, he was frowning at me.

"I hope you realize that now Clarissa is awake, you are no longer permitted to stay overnight in her room. In fact, I would rather there be someone else to keep you company at all times while you're with her," he said strictly.

"For what reason?" Clary looked at her father, appalled. To be honest, so was I.

Valentine gave the both of us (mainly Clary) a look as if the explanation was obvious. "For your safety, of course!" He glared at me then. "I don't trust him to be able to keep his hands to himself now that you're awake. It's an absolutely necessary measure that I'm taking to ensure that there is no such funny business. No _boy_ , no matter how much he claims to love my daughter, is allowed to steal her virtue."

"Daddy, you do realize that I'm in a hospital, right?" Clary asked. She was rubbing her temples with her free hand, looking completely exasperated—I realized then that she must have had this talk with her father many, many times before.

"Your point is?" Valentine asked impatiently.

"I'm sure there are certain rules and regulations in place to prevent such things from happening," Clary said. "Besides, Jace won't try anything—if he does, I'll slap him and kick him out of here myself." I gave her an incredulous look when she said that. _'Work with me,'_ she mouthed while subtly throwing a glance at her father.

"I still don't like it."

"Don't you trust me, Daddy?" Clary looked at him with sad, doe-like eyes, and I immediately schooled my expression into a poker-face, lest I burst out laughing. It hadn't even been three hours since she came to from her coma, and she was already slipping into her old acting skills.

I exchanged a look with Jonathan and Jocelyn, who were both trying hard to stifle their knowing smiles. The only one who was completely buying her act was Valentine. He looked conflicted, as if his heart had been thrust into two different directions—on one hand, he wanted to play the role of a doting, overprotective parent; but on the other, he didn't want to disappoint his daughter.

"Please, Daddy…" Clary jutted out her bottom lip into a deep pout. "Think of how disappointed my poor, frail heart will be." Really, Valentine was fighting a losing battle when she said that.

"Fine," he muttered begrudgingly. He glared at me again. "But I will set the terms of his stay." _Oh boy. Here we go again._ "There will be no hand-holding," he zeroed in on our tightly clasped hands, "No hugging, no kissing, and absolutely no sharing of beds—Let go of my daughter's hand, Herondale!"

I nearly jumped out of my seat when Valentine raised his voice. My instinctive reaction was to let Clary's hand go, but she held onto me tighter.

"Dad, leave him alone," she scolded him. "He's leaving under no one else's terms but his own." She looked at me for confirmation and I nodded.

"I'm not leaving," I told Valentine firmly, despite how much the man intimidated me.

"Get used to it, Dad," Jonathan stepped towards me and clapped a hand on my shoulder. "He's going to be your son-in-law one day."

If looks could kill, I would have probably been dead by now from the dagger look Valentine was shooting me. The tips of his ears were red, his jaw was clenched and his hands were curled into fists at his sides.

"I just remembered! We should go talk to Clary's doctor," Jocelyn, _my unexpected savior_ , jumped to my rescue. She wrapped her hand around Valentine's forearm and dragged him towards the door, which was an incredible feat considering the man was being stubbornly uncooperative. "Valentine, move!"

"What for?" he growled, continuing to glower at me but thankfully, he was sensible enough to obey his wife's orders this time, albeit unwillingly. "The doctor already came in earlier and explained everything he deemed important—Jocelyn Fairchild-Morgenstern!"

We all let out a simultaneous sigh of relief when the door finally clicked shut behind them.

"Well," Jonathan said, breaking the silence. "This has been a pleasant reunion, although _nothing_ is quite as pleasant as having a happy and sated stomach. Besides, I have no compulsion to stay and be a third wheel, so if you'll excuse me…I'll be in the cafeteria if anyone needs me."

Jonathan strolled towards the door and made an unnecessarily overdramatic display of closing the door behind him— _really slowly_. I nearly flung my shoe at him, (nearly), if it weren't for the belated realization I had that Clary and I were finally alone again.

I involuntarily tensed. Three months ago, _this_ —us being together in the same room, unsupervised—would have been dangerous, as proven by my many reckless past choices. But now, all I felt was awkward, and if I were being completely honest with myself, a tad bit apprehensive. I still haven't had the chance of a heart-to-heart with Clary yet.

Not five minutes after our tearful reunion, a nurse had come in for a routinely check on Clary's condition. When she saw that their coma patient was finally awake, she'd immediately called for Clary's doctor, who then ran further tests on her to make sure that everything was okay and as they should be. We hadn't had a single moment of peace since then, especially after one of the nurses had informed Clary's family and they'd rushed over, resulting in more tears of joy and relief, and consequently, Valentine's papa bear scene—

"We should talk," Clary said, interrupting my scattered thoughts. She looked at me shyly. "I already know what's on your mind...so why don't you ask me?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean, Jace," Clary said in a more frustrated tone. "I told you—I heard everything you told me while I was asleep. I heard you ask me…" She looked away, unable to complete her sentence.

I swallowed. The elephant in the room was obvious, but I was scared to ask. What if I didn't like what I found out? But if Clary was the one to initiate it... "Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" I asked quietly.

She smiled at me weakly. "That wasn't so hard now, was it?" she asked, though I could tell that her heart wasn't in it. I watched her as she wrung her fingers together, mostly out of a nervous habit.

"I asked myself the same question so many times too," she said, her face distant as if she were remembering. I placed my hand on top of hers, hoping that the contact would comfort her as much as it comforted me. She sighed and looked at me.

"I told myself that I was trying to spare you from the inevitable pain of losing me. You have to understand, Jace. I have an extremely rare blood type. Just finding a blood donor is hard enough, but to find a compatible _heart_ … It was a really slim chance. I had myself believing that I was a lost cause. It made me so depressed.

"And then I thought about you and...I became so paranoid. My brain had me thinking that if you did stay with me, it would be out of _pity—"_ I opened my mouth to protest but she gave me a look that said, 'let me finish'. I slumped back into my chair and nodded obediently.

"Now that I think back on it, I realize that I was just being selfish. I assumed the worst—that you would eventually grow tired of our relationship and cheat on me. In the end, I made the decision to not tell you to spare _myself_ from having to face that pain. I convinced myself it would be better if you did hate me. It would have been easier for you if I died—"

"Stop," I said, unable to hear anymore of it. I told myself that I didn't want to be angry with her, but I was—to an extent anyway. The fact that she made that big of a decision (one that she knew would affect me) on her own, made my blood boil with rage. And for her to assume the worst of me… Did she really think that lowly of me?

"Do you love me, Clary?" My voice was emotionless and I stared at her blankly.

"Yes."

"Do you trust me then? When I tell you that I love you, do you believe me?"

Clary bit her lip and shuddered as if she were trying to repress her tears. "Honestly? At that time, I didn't." She looked down and squeezed my hand tentatively. My heart stung at her admission, and for a fleeting second, I felt compelled to make a bitter comment. I didn't though.

"But I believe you now," she said softly. "Everything you said to me while I was in that coma…everything you did...it made me realize how much of a stupid idiot I was for not telling you sooner. I know it shouldn't have taken a near-death situation for me to come to my senses, but at the same time, if given the choice, I wouldn't take it back.

"Look at it this way—Everything that happened up until this point has been nothing but a blessing in disguise. Yes, we could have stopped ourselves from hurting each other the way we did, but everything that happened, it made us _stronger_. I think I love you a lot more now than I did over a year ago."

Unable to help myself, I stared at her then, searching her face, _her eyes_ , for a semblance of sincerity. What I saw quelled the anger and bitterness in my heart. There was nothing but truth and honesty in them. _She loved me._ Everything else that had happened before...the pain and anger and desolation that came with it...none of it mattered in relative to what we had now. She was right; we were stronger. The only logical thing to do next was to move forward with our lives and to leave behind whatever negative feelings we had towards each other.

"You think?" I asked in a more teasing tone. I leaned forward in my seat until my elbows were resting on her bed.

Clary smiled. "I know." She rolled at her eyes at me when I cracked a huge grin. "Don't get so cocky."

"You have to admit it though—my cockiness is one of my most endearing traits," I smirked.

"Followed by you being a jackass?"

"Hmm. Just like being a smart-mouth is _your_ endearing trait."

"Hey!"

"What? It's true…" I gently took her wrist in my grip and gave it a tender kiss.

"Just promise me one thing?" She nodded. "Promise me you won't keep secrets from me anymore. If there's something bothering you, tell me instead of making assumptions."

"I promise, Jace," she said, ruffling my hair gently. "I'm sorry…"

"I'm sorry too," I shook my head, ready to launch into a full speech about how much I hated myself for doing all the stupid things I did. I didn't think I could ever get past how much I'd hurt her and abandoned her at a time when she probably needed me the most. I was a poor excuse of a boyfriend—the absolute _worst_. "Everything—"

"No!" Clary shouted, much to my own astonishment. She gave me an apologetic look and blushed sheepishly. "I told you— _I know_. Please don't make me listen to you apologize again. You have no idea how much I wanted to shut you up the entire time."

"Ouch," I narrowed my eyes at her. "Way to kill a man's ego, Clarissa."

She shrugged. "I know other things too. Like how you spent the first two weeks by my bed side and refused to take a shower," she continued. "And then Alec had to practically drag you to the toilet and later force-feed you because you wouldn't eat…"

"Okay, okay. I get it. You know," I scratched the back of my neck, embarrassed. Then something about what she said hit me. If she'd heard _everything_ I ever said…

"I'm assuming you heard my proposal too then," I said, eyeing her cautiously.

"Your proposal?"

"Yes, Clary. I proposed to you," I said. "Several times—this morning too, I think."

She looked infuriatingly nonchalant. "Oh… _that_. Yup, I heard that too."

Antsy, I finally stood up from that bloody chair and glared at her. "That's all you have to say to me? 'Yup, I heard that too'?"

"Be nice to me, Jace Herondale. I'm a patient here."

"Well, _I_ have been _patient_ ," I told her, frustrated. "You're really killing me here, Clary. Just tell me already—"

"Fine!" She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Jonathan was right."

I swore to God, this woman was driving me insane with all her cryptic, standoffish answers. _One_ answer! That was all I was asking for—an answer!

"What does Jonathan have anything to do with this?" I almost cried.

"Geez, calm down, Jace! God, you're so _slow_." She pressed her palms into her closed eyes and slowly rubbed them as if _I_ was the one giving _her_ a headache.

"When I said that Jonathan was right, I was referring to the conversation you had with him _this morning_ ," she explained to me as if I were a child.

I frowned deeply at her until my mind finally registered what she was talking about. Instantly, my eyes widened into the size of saucers and my jaw dropped. My heart thudded wildly in my chest as I gaped at her smirking face. Oh my God. She was right—

I was slow.

"Jonathan was right because I'm saying _yes_ , Jace. I'll marry you."

* * *

 _ **A/N: Happy endings as always because I ship Clace. I would never kill either Clary and Jace in my stories...NEVER.**_

 _ **Anyway, thanks for all the reviews last chapter! For my returning readers, welcome back and thank you for your support :)**_


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